(Jared's POV)
THE CABINET OFFICE...
70 Whitehall, London SW1A 2AS
This is to certify that all materials pertaining to:
CASE: BT198255D./SH
Have been classified as:
D NOTICE – 100 YEARS
By order of
E Smallwood TOP SECRET
"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret." Mycroft said, nearby.
A video screen is showing four perspectives of the scene on the patio at Appledore shortly before Sherlock and I shot Charles Magnussen. In a room which may be in the same building where Lady Smallwood's parliamentary commission was held in 'His Last Vow',Mycroft is standing with his back to a table behind which sit Lady Elizabeth Smallwood herself and Sir Edwin, last seen with her towards the end of the same episode. Near them sits a woman in her early seventies with a notebook and pen on her lap. Sherlock is sitting on a chair with me also sitting on a chair near his brother, facing the table. The video screen is behind the other three people. Now Mycroft turns to face them.
"Is that quite clear?" Mycroft asked, looking towards the elderly lady. "Don't minute any of this." The woman, who was just about to put on her glasses, lowers them again and folds her hands in her lap. "Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it. A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room – code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love – will ever know the whole truth." Sherlock has his head down and I also have my head down and rapid quiet clicking from the consultant detective's phone and my phone can be heard. "As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus ... Sherlock, are you tweeting?! And Jared, are you texting?!"
Mycroft glares down at Sherlock and I, who looks up guiltily and the two of us cover our phones even as the sound of a tweet and a text being sent can be heard.
"No." Sherlock said, sadly.
"Nope." I said, frowning.
"Well, that's what it looks like." Mycroft said, looking between Sherlock and I.
"Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?" Sherlock asked.
"And who would I be texting at this hour?" I asked, my phone in my hand.
"Give me those." Mycroft said, quickly walking across to his brother and me and reaching for the phones.
"What? No. Get off. What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, as he and I tried to hang on to the phones with both hands while Mycroft struggles to get hold of them. "Get off. What ...?"
"Give it here." Mycroft said, sternly.
Mycroft finally pulls the phones from Sherlock's hands and my hands and looks at the screens, "Let me read Sherlock's first, Jared. 'Back on terra firma'."
"Don't read them out." Sherlock said, annoyed.
"'Free as a bird'."
"God, you're such a spoilsport."
"Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, angrily, before looking over at my phone. "Jared, why are you texting Donna Noble? Don't you remember the implications for her?"
"She's okay. I promise. Her memories are locked behind a pendant." I said, smiling. "And she can let go of the meta crisis at any time after she fully remembers. She remembers me without the meta crisis. She doesn't remember the Doctor, the TARDIS, and our adventures currently."
"Oh, alright. If you say so." Mycroft said, handing me back my phone. "But, brother dear. Why are you not taking it seriously?"
"I am taking it seriously. What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?" Sherlock asked, as I placed my phone back inside my pocket.
"#OhWhatABeautifulMorning." Mycroft said, looking at the phone.
"Look. Not so long ago, Jared and I were on a mission that meant certain deaths – my death and Jared's death – and now I'm back with Jared, in a nice warm office with him and my big brother and ... Are those ginger nuts?" Sherlock asked, indignantly.
"Yeah! Those are gingersnaps!" I said, and Sherlock and I look excitedly at a plate on the table and the two of us spring to our feet to walk over there. "They're not as good as gingerbread cookies. But they can do nicely."
"Oh, God." Mycroft said, sighing.
"Love ginger nuts." Sherlock said, grabbing a handful of the biscuits from the plate. "What about you, Jared?"
"Gingersnaps are okay. Gingerbread cookies are better. I prefer sugar cookies though." I said, while Sherlock gave me the rest of the plate full of the cookies. "Now those are Christmas cookies for me!"
"Our doctor said the both of you were clean." Lady Smallwood said, looking between Sherlock and I.
"We are, utterly." Sherlock said, as he and I turned and looked at Mycroft as he and I walked back towards our chairs. "No need for stimulants now, remember? We have work to do."
Sherlock crunches into one of the biscuits and I tossed a gingersnap cookie into my mouth.
"Mr Holmes, you and your friend are high as a kite!" Sir Edwin said, angrily.
"Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural. I'm just ..." Sherlock said, turning to Sir Edwin, singing dramatically while holding his hands out. "... glad to be aliiiiiive!"
Sherlock chuckles and lowers his hands, still chomping on his mouthful of biscuit.
"Just you see. Watch as I go alone. All alone. Alone." I said, turning to Sir Edwin, singing dramatically, picking up a couple of the gingersnap cookies off my plate. "Rising like a wave. It's clear that I'm everything and nothing. All at once. I'll meet you at the horizon where we first met. Where I died, I'll be born again."
"Jared. You haven't seen Team RWBY in a while. That explains why you sang one of the songs from their show." Sherlock said, and I laughed, tossing the two gingersnap cookies into my mouth, eating them. "What shall we do next?" He points at the elderly woman. "What's your name?"
"Vi-Vivian." Vivian said, nervously.
"What would you do, Vivian?" Sherlock asked.
"Pardon?"
"Well, it's a lovely day. Go for a stroll?" Sherlock asked, while Lady Smallwood frowns at him and shakes her head in disbelief. Sir Edwin puts his hand over his face. "Make a paper aeroplane? Have an ice lolly?"
"A popsicle sounds nice right about now." I said, as Sherlock takes another bite of a biscuit and I did the same with the one on my plate. "Would you like a popsicle?"
"I do. I would like an ice lolly, I suppose." Vivian said, frowning.
"Ice lolly it is! What's your favourite?" Sherlock asked, gesturing dramatically.
"Well, really, I shouldn't ..." Vivian said, looking a little nervously towards her superiors.
"Go on." Sherlock said, encouragingly.
"Do they still do Mivvis?" Vivian asked.
"They do. I prefer Popsicle. They're the US equivalent of it." I said, happily. "The cherry flavor is my favorite. Orange is good too."
"Mr Holmes." Lady Smallwood said, firmly.
"Yes?" Mycroft and Sherlock asked, simultaneously.
Mycroft looks across to Sherlock and I, then lowers his head in exasperation.
"We do need to get on." Lady Smallwood said. "And make that fanboy behave."
"Yes, of course." Mycroft said, raising his head, and using the remote control he is holding to restart the video footage.
There are two screens facing the table which those behind it can watch, and the sound of the helicopter hovering in front of the Appledore patio can be heard. Sherlock swipes his phone from Mycroft and gestures dramatically with it at his brother before he sits down on the chair again while tucking the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket.
"Oh, shut up!" I said, offscreen, on the video screen.
"And do your research." Sherlock said, offscreen, on the video screen.
The footage shows a distant shot of Sherlock and I walking towards Magnussen.
"We're not heroes." Sherlock said, on the screen.
"I'm a fanboy." I said, on the screen.
"And I'm a high functioning sociopath." Sherlock said, on the screen.
The footage moves to the headcam of an operative nearer to the patio. As someone runs across the camera, very briefly blocking out the view, Sherlock can be seen with his hand still lowered and my hand is still lowered with the coin in my hand, and a gunshot rings out. Magnussen falls backwards and Sherlock can be seen dropping John's pistol and I can be seen dropping the coin and the two of us instantly raising our hands. Behind Sherlock and I, John stares at Magnussen and, for a moment, starts to move towards him.
The footage jumps back a second or two.
"... sociopath." Sherlock said, offscreen, on the video screen.
Footage from the telescopic sight of a rifle shows two red dots on Magnussen's face as he stands upright on the patio. A gunshot rings out and Magnussen falls out of view.
"... sociopath." Sherlock said, offscreen, on the video screen.
The footage again shows Magnussen being shot without Sherlock raising his own gun and without me raising my own coin. In the parliamentary room, the footage continues to repeat.
"I see. Who is supposed to have shot him, then?" Sherlock asked.
"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who." Sir Edwin said.
"Hey! That's not what happened!" I said, taking another bite of the gingersnap. "And you know it!"
"It is now." Mycroft said.
"Remarkable. How did you do it?" Lady Smallwood asked.
"We have some very talented people working here. If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er ... doctor a bit of security footage." Sir Edwin said, pointing towards the screen. As he continues talking, Sherlock tosses a piece of biscuit towards his open mouth. It misses and falls down the side of his lap. He scrabbles to recover it. "That is now the official version; the version anyone we want to will see."
"No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon. You're off the hook, Mr Holmes, Mr Shay. You're home and dry." Lady Smallwood said.
Mycroft folds his arms and looks sternly down at his brother and me.
"Okay, cheers." Sherlock said, putting the last bit of biscuit in his mouth and holding it between his lips, he jumps up and starts to button his jacket, then reaches for his greatcoat.
"Thank you. I hope none of you support the Sokovia Accords in a couple of years." I said, placing a cookie into my mouth, jumping up, and wrapping my sling bag around my body. "Because if you support it. The world will be in shambles. And it will be your fault. Not mine."
"Obviously there's unfinished business. Moriarty." Lady Smallwood said, looking between Sherlock and I.
"Ugh." I said, muffled, through the cookie. "We already told you..." I take the cookie out from my mouth for a moment as I finish the sentence. "Moriarty's dead."
"Mr Shay, you say he filmed that video message before he died."
"Yeah." I said, pausing for a moment, with my sling bag around my body, and still chewing on the cookie. "I did."
"Mr Holmes, you also say you know what he's going to do next. What does that mean?" Lady Smallwood asked.
"Perhaps that's all there is to it." Sir Edwin said, pointing towards Sherlock. "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you and Jared."
"No, no. He would never be that disappointing." Sherlock said, gazing into the distance. "He's planned something; something long-term; something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge. No – better than that. Posthumous game."
"Mr Holmes, we brought you and Jared back to deal with this. What are you going to do?" Lady Smallwood asked.
"Wait."
"'Wait'?!" Lady Smallwood exclaimed.
"Of course wait. Jared and I are the targets. Targets wait. Look – whatever's coming, whatever he's lined up, I'll know when it begins." Sherlock said, walking towards the door with me wrapping one of my arms around his, and he puts his arms into his coat. "I always know when the game is on. Jared tells me when the game is on. D'you know why?"
"Why?" Lady Smallwood asked, a little exasperated.
"Because I love it." Sherlock said, turning to face Lady Smallwood.
London Aquarium...
I am walking with Sherlock, seeing blue-lit water and hear water rippling nearby.
"There was once a merchant in the famous market at Baghdad. One day he saw a stranger looking at him in surprise ..." Sherlock said, walking through a glass tunnel with me under the water. A shark swims towards us "... and he knew that the stranger was Death. Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace and made his way many, many miles to the city of Samarra, for there he was sure Death could not find him." While he continues speaking, sharks in the London Aquarium with Sherlock and I watching them. "But when at last he came to Samarra, the merchant saw, waiting for him, the grim figure of Death. 'Very well', said the merchant. 'I give in. I am yours.'"
Sherlock slowly strokes his hand down the glass wall of one of the tanks.
"'But tell me: why did you look surprised when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?' 'Because," said Death, "I had an appointment with you tonight – in Samarra.'" Sherlock said, when a shark swims up to us.
"What's that story called?" I asked, looking at Sherlock.
"It's called 'Appointment in Samarra'. It was published eighty years ago. Surprised you've never heard of it, Jared." Sherlock said, grabbing my hand.
221B BAKER STREET...
In the living room, Sherlock stabs his multi-tool knife down into a large pile of letters on the mantelpiece.
"If this gets any better, I'm gonna get two knives." Sherlock said, turning to where John is sitting at the dining table typing a new blog entry entitled '221Back!'
"Two knives?" I asked, sipping on some green tea. "Why two?"
The blog entry reads:
And we're back! Sorry I haven't updated the blog for such a long time but things
really have been very busy. You'll have seen on the news about how Sherlock
recovered the Mona Lisa. He described it as 'an utterly dreary case' and was
much more interested in the case of a missing horseshoe and how it was
connected to a bright blue deckchair on Brighton beach.
I'll try to write everything up when I get chance but it's not been missing portraits
and horseshoes that have taken up my time.
I'm going to be a Dad.
I mean, I thought I'd spent the last few years being a Dad to Sherlock and Jared, but it
really doesn't compare. The baby runs all of our lives. If I'm not changing nappies, I'm buying nappies. I've fought in
Afghanistan and my best friends once faked their own deaths but none of that...it's a terrifying and amazing and the biggest adventure I've been
The entry ends there.
John is learning how to change diapers for a baby, "It pays to advertise."
"So you're going to call the baby Rosamund then." I said, walking over to John.
"I might." John said, smiling.
Sherlock sits down in his chair, looking at his phone. Mary, standing near the window and rubbing her very pregnant tummy with one hand while pressing her lower back with the other, looks at him.
"So, what about Moriarty, then?" Mary asked.
"Ooh, I have a plan." Sherlock said, as Mary rubs her bump again, grimacing. "Jared and I are going to monitor the underworld – every quiver of the web will tell us when the spider makes his move."
"Yup. I turned on the Torchwood servers again." I said, walking over to my MacBook Pro as I was speaking, Sherlock has also tweeted '#221Bringit!'. "Oh, that tweet. That's amazing, Shirley."
"Thank you, Jared. Glad you liked it."
"Basically, Sherlock, your 'plan' with Jared is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do." John said, looking at Sherlock.
"Awesome, isn't it?!" Sherlock exclaimed, smiling across to John.
"And we're not going to get our next big case for months anyway." I said, while Sherlock jumps up, steps across to the mantelpiece and rips the top letter off the pile. "Let's do this!"
A montage of client scenes begins.
"He drowned, Mr Holmes." The female client said.
While the client sits on a dining chair, John's later blog entry drifts across the screen reading:
Dusty Death
I won't name the client out of respect
but she came to us because of her late
husband. His body was recovered from
the sea near Falmouth...
Sherlock is pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, looking at his phone. John sits in his chair with Mary perched on the arm. I am busy playing the Apollo Justice Trilogy on my Nintendo Switch.
"That's what we thought but when they opened up his lungs ..." The female client said.
"Yes?" Mary asked.
"What is it?" I asked, my Nintendo Switch in my hands.
"Sand." The female client said.
"Superficial." Sherlock said, looking at the female client for a moment.
Sherlock's phone whistles a tweet alert and he goes back to looking at it as my phone whistles a tweet alert and I go back to looking at it.
"No way! Donna Noble is coming back!" I said, excitedly. "2023?! Ugh! That's so far! That's eight years away!"
On another occasion, Sherlock sits in his chair holding a pair of Mars binoculars to his eyes while he peers at a small plastic bag containing a dark pink item held in pieces of ice.
John's blog entry drifts across the screen:
Mr Hatherley came straight round to Baker
Street in a terrible state. He was white as a
sheet and bleeding from an awful wound in
his hand. Exactly how he came by this wound
was at first confusing...
Still holding the binoculars in place over his eyes, Sherlock calls out.
"Come back! It's the wrong thumb!" Sherlock said, lowering the binoculars and looking up but there's nobody in the room except me listening to the RWBY Volume 9 soundtrack on my iPhone 15 Pro Max, and now the downstairs front door slams shut. "Jared! Why didn't you tell me the client left!"
On another occasion photographs are scattered over the dining room table and the Mars binoculars lie on top of some of them. John's blog entry reads:
The Duplicate Man
How could Dennis Parkinson be in two places at
the same time? And murdered in one of them?
"Sherlock ..." John said, standing at the table, looking at the evidence.
"It's never twins." Sherlock said, rapidly typing on his phone.
"Yeah..." I said, drinking a bottle of Baja Blast. "Twins would have made this so much easier. If only Morgan Spencer and Darcy Anderson were real here."
On another occasion, Sherlock sits in his chair with his laptop open on his knees. He's busy on his phone at the same time. Mary is sitting in John's chair holding a mug and rubbing her tummy while John stands at the fireplace. I am playing Splatoon 3 on my Nintendo Switch.
"Hopkins, arrest Wilson. Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes." Sherlock said, in a quickfire rate.
"Wilson?!" Hopkins exclaimed, from the laptop speaker.
"Lymph nodes?!" Dimmock exclaimed, from the laptop speaker.
"Sherlock ..." Mary said, sadly.
"Don't berate them like that." I said, and Sherlock is simultaneously Skypeing with Detective Inspectors Dimmock and Hopkins, who are separately looking into their mobile phone's camera as they talk with him. "They're not your playthings."
The windows showing them are side by side on Sherlock's laptop screen. Dimmock is walking along a road while Hopkins is indoors, possibly in her office.
"Yes. You may have nothing but a limbless torso but there'll still be traces of ink left in the lymph nodes under the armpits. If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the signs'll be there." Sherlock said, at a quickfire rate, looking at Dimmock.
John's later blog entry appears under Dimmock's Skype window and reads:
The Circus Torso
A limbless body found
decomposing inside a trunk in left
luggage office in Waterloo station
couldn't be identified...
A second blog entry under Hopkins' Skype window reads:
The Canary Trainer
Andrew Wilson was an unusual
man with an unusual hobby.
He seemed to have no connection
with the man whose life was so
abruptly ended one freezing night
in November...
"Bloody hell! Is that a guess?" Dimock asked.
"I never guess." Sherlock said, closing Dimmock's screen.
"Sherlock ..." Mary said, frowning.
"At least tell them the truth." I said, letting out a sigh.
"So he's the killer? The canary trainer?" Hopkins asked.
"'Course he's the killer." Sherlock said, scoffing.
"Didn't see that coming." Hopkins said.
"Hm, naturally." Sherlock said, closing Hopkins' screen.
"Sherlock, you can't go on spinning plates like this." John said, annoyed.
Sherlock's eyes widen and lift from his phone as his mouth falls open, "That's it! The place was spinning."
On another occasion, Sherlock walks across the room checking his phone while he talks to a man sitting on a dining room chair.
"The heart medication you are taking is known to cause bouts of amnesia." Sherlock said.
John's blog entry reads:
The Cardiac Arrest
Joel Fentiman was found strangled in the
bedsit he shared with his brother. They had
always got on well and there was no sign that
this situation had changed...
"Yes, um ... I think so. Why?" Mr Fentiman asked.
"Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck are your own." Sherlock said, sitting down in his chair, still looking at his phone.
Later, another blog entry drifts across the screen:
... we could never have known there
was a potential assassin lurking close by.
An assassin who turned out to be...
John and I giggled as we led Sherlock up the stairs at Baker Street towards the living room.
"A jellyfish?!" John exclaimed.
"I know." Sherlock said, happily.
"You can't arrest a jellyfish!"
"Well, you could try." Sherlock said, looking at his phone as he climbed the stairs.
"We did try." John said, his phone sounds an alert.
"Anyway, thanks you two for helping me make sure Operation Double is still operational." I said, smiling.
"It's not a problem." John said, sighing, he takes it from his pocket as he reaches the landing and looks at the screen. "Oh God."
"Mary?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his own phone.
"Fifty-nine missed calls." John said.
"We're in a lot of trouble." Sherlock said, turning and rapidly heads back down the stairs.
"Yup. We are." I said, looking between Sherlock and John. "Sorry about making you guys go around London with me. To make sure that the Zygons keep up their end of the peace treaty."
"It's fine. It's better than trying to arrest a jellyfish anyway."
Car...
Mary is in the back seat of a car groaning and clutching her abdomen. Her dress is pulled high up her legs.
"Ow! Oh my God. Oh my God!" Mary said, pressing both her hands against the roof.
In the driver's seat, John looks worriedly into the rear-view mirror, "Relax. It's got two syllables ..."
"I'm a nurse, darling. I think I know what to do." Mary said.
"Come on then, come on." John said.
"Re..."
John purses his lips, mimicking breathing.
"...lax." John said, blowing out the breath.
"No, just drive! Please, God, just drive! God, drive!" Mary yelled, writhing on the seat.
"John, she's panicking again." I said, while Mary screamed.
Sherlock, sitting beside John as I sat next to Mary and he is frantically typing on his phone, glances across to the nurse momentarily.
"Sherlock. Jared. Mary!" John said, sternly.
"That's it, Mary. Re..." Sherlock said, pursing his lips and sucks in a breath.
"Don't you start." Mary said, savagely, now kneeling on the seat.
"...lax." I said, reluctantly. "Everything's going to be okay, Mary." Moments later, my face is squashed hard against the side window as Mary slams her hand against the side of my head. "Ow. Gah..."
"John?" Mary asked, bracing her other hand against my head. "John, I think you have to pull over."
Mary shifts back into a sitting position.
"Mary, Mary ..." John said.
"Pull Over!" Mary said, angrily.
Sherlock looks down towards Mary's legs and his mouth falls open and his eyes widen in horror, "Oh my God."
Mary screams and then sobs. John glances over his shoulder and starts to pull the car to the kerb as Mary continues to scream.
John and Mary's home...
A flashbulb pops. Mary and John are sitting on the sofa, Mary cradling their new daughter. Helium balloons are floating on strings behind the sofa and there are gift bags and flowers on the coffee table in front of the family, and a large white teddy bear beside the sofa. A glass of champagne is also on the table. I am drinking some white wine and using my iPhone 15 Pro Max to take photos of John and Mary with Rosie. John has his arm around his wife while Mary is holding her daughter's hand and the new parents are smiling as they pose for the photograph. Standing at the other side of the table, Molly Hooper is drinking from a glass of champagne and Mrs Hudson is taking another photograph with her camera.
"Has that come out?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking at the screen on her camera and makes an exasperated noise. "They never come out when I take them!"
"Let's have a look." Molly said, putting down her glass and taking the camera.
"Aww. She's so beautiful." Mrs Hudson said, happily.
Molly fiddles with the camera and then hands it back, "Have another go."
Sherlock is standing a short distance away, engrossed with his phone.
"What about a name?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking at the new parents.
"Catherine." John said, happily.
"Uh, yeah, we've gone off that." Mary said, smiling.
"Have we?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Well, you know what I think." Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone.
"Sherlock, for God's sake!" I said, angrily. "They're not naming her after you!"
"We're not." John said, sadly.
"We're really not." Mary said, frowning.
"It's not a girl's name." John and Mary said, simultaneously.
Sherlock smiles, his eyes still fixed on his phone.
"Molly, Mrs H, Jared. We would love you to be godparents." John said.
"Oh!" Molly said, laughing in surprised delight.
"If you ..." John said, looking at Molly.
"Really?"
"So lovely!" Mrs Hudson said, excitedly.
"Sure. I mean, I am immortal. I don't mind looking after her." I said, drinking some of the white wine.
"Jared, I know since you're immortal. You're always going to look after my daughter." John said, looking at me. "You look after her after I'm gone."
"I will. I promise. I'm great with kids. I'll be great with your daughter."
"Thank you, Jared."
As the two women continue to make appreciative noises and I am smiling, John stands up while Molly and I go to the sofa to sit down next to Mary. John walks over towards Sherlock, who is texting:
Fresh paint to
disguise another smell.
Sherlock sends the message.
"And, uh ..." John said, holding his arms wide and stared upwards, perhaps asking himself, 'Why am I doing this?!'. "... you, too, Sherlock?"
"You too what?" Sherlock asked, still typing on his phone.
"Godfather? We'd like you to be godfather. Jared already agreed to being my daughter's godfather."
Sherlock is now texting:
Odd socks?
Arrest the brother in law.
Sherlock sends that text and starts another one while talking, "God is a ludicrous fiction dreamt up by inadequates who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend."
Sherlock's latest message reads:
If dog can't swim,
neighbour is the killer.
John looks away briefly, then steps closer, "Yeah, but there'll be cake. Will you do it?"
Sherlock glances at John briefly, "I'll get back to you."
John nods resignedly and heads for the stairs.
Outside the church...
Some weeks later, an elderly vicar stands at the front in a church. Mary and John stand near him, Mary cradling the baby, and Greg, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock, Molly, and I are at the other side of the font. An older couple stand behind them. This is Stella and Ted, ready to give 'love and many big squishy cuddles' to the new baby.
Church...
Sherlock is still busy on his phone.
"Father, we ask you to send your blessings on this water ..." The vicar said, leaning forward and draws the sign of the cross in the water. "... and sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ's name." Shaking the water off his hand, he turns to the parents. "Now, what name have you given your daughter?"
Mary and John smile at each other, then Mary turns to the vicar.
"We'd like to go with the name Jared suggested to us for our daughter. Rosamund Mary." Mary said, happily.
"Rosamund?" Sherlock asked, frowning, he looks up briefly.
"Means 'rose of the world.' Rosie for short." Molly said, quietly.
Sherlock throws a disapproving look in Molly's direction and then goes back to his phone.
"Didn't you get John's text and Jared's text?" Molly asked.
"No. I delete their texts. I delete any text that begins, 'Hi' and 'Hey'." Sherlock said.
Molly raises her eyes skywards.
"No idea why people think you're incapable of human emotion." Molly said, letting out a sigh.
"You're more incapable of human emotion than the Doctor." I said, rolling my eyes.
Mrs Hudson clears her throat pointedly.
"Sorry." Molly said, quietly.
"Get off the phone, Sherlock." I said, nodding my head down to Sherlock's hands and still speaking quietly. "Please. You're causing a distraction."
Sherlock lowers the phone and puts his hands behind his back. The vicar is now holding Rosamund, who is grizzling.
"And now, godparents ..." The vicar said, while Sherlock is continuing to type behind his back. "... are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"
"We are." Molly, Mrs Hudson, and I said, simultaneously.
Molly looks across to Sherlock and elbows him. Behind his back, a male Siri voice speaks from his phone.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Siri said.
"Sherlock. You did not just activate Siri." I said, as Stella and Ted make disapproving noises. "Not in the middle of a baptism."
John closes his eyes and Mary narrows her eyes at Sherlock.
"Please repeat the question." Siri said, beeping.
221B BAKER STREET...
A few months have passed and I am in the living room with Sherlock, John, Mary, and Rosie. Standing in front of the fireplace wearing his camel coloured dressing gown, Sherlock sighs in exasperation.
"As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe." Sherlock said, turning towards John's chair. "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time ..." He bends down and picks up a jingling baby's rattle. "...if you want to keep the rattle ..." Young Rosie is sitting in a plastic baby's chair perched on the seat. "... do not throw the rattle, hm?"
Sherlock presents the rattle to Rose. She gurgles, takes it, and promptly throws it in Sherlock's face.
"Good girl." I said, sipping on some Mountain Dew. "Sherlock, you tough too much."
Across the room, Mary is lying on the sofa fast asleep with one foot up on John's lap as he sits at the other end with his hand on her leg, also asleep. Rosie rears her head back and then sneezes.
(Open POV)
BUS...
John sits on a sideways-facing seat with his eyes closed. He wakes when his phone chirps an alert, and gets it out of his pocket to look at the message:
Baker Street? Tomorrow five PM?
Lestrade says he has a belter.
He smiles briefly, then looks thoughtful before he looks at the next message:
Mary says it's fine.
He chuckles and puts the phone away. A couple of people walk along the gangway heading for the rear of the bus and John notices a pretty woman with long red hair sitting a few feet to his right on a forward-facing seat. She meets his gaze and smiles at him. John briefly returns her smile and looks away but then glances back and sees that she's still smiling at him. A little self-consciously he runs his right hand over his hair and she lowers her eyes and looks at a piece of paper in her hand, still with a smile on her face. Someone rings the bell to alert the bus to halt at the next stop and John stands and picks up his briefcase, casting one more glance at the smiling woman. The bus pulls up at the bus stop and several passengers, including John, get off. He walks along the side of the bus and then turns to look in the side window, seeing his face clearly reflected in the glass. He has a large plastic daisy-like flower tucked behind his left ear.
He flashes back to earlier that day where he was leaning over Rosie unfastening her nappy as she lay on a changing mat on top of a bureau in her bedroom.
"All right. Good girl. Good girl. Good girl." John said, softly.
He waves the plastic flower in front of her while she gurgles contentedly.
"I'd better finish this, hadn't I?" John asked, tucking the flower's stem behind his left ear.
In the present, John takes the flower from his ear, smiling ruefully to himself as the bus pulls away.
BAKER STREET LIVING ROOM...
John walks in to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, wearing his camel dressing gown and with his hands steepled just under his mouth. Jared is eating some jelly babies.
Greg is standing just inside the door, "Hey."
"Afternoon. They say you've got a good one, Greg." John said, happily.
"Oh yeah." Lestrade said, smiling.
A LARGE PRIVATE HOUSE...
It is nighttime.
"It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday." Lestrade said, as a voiceover.
Over the sight of silver helium balloons and the sound of singing, cheering and applause, the image shifts to a white plaster bust of Margaret Thatcher before it shifts again to the birthday boy in the doorway of a downstairs room, kissing his wife. A party is going on in the room nearby.
"God, fifty! Where did it go?! I know for a fact I was only twenty-one this time last week!" David yelled.
"Yeah, well that's impossible, 'cause that's before you met me and ..." Emma said.
"Well, no ..."
"... there never was such a time!" The Wellsboroughs said, simultaneously.
They kiss again.
"She's looking at me disapprovingly again." Emma said, looking across to a nearby table.
David follows Emma's gaze to the white plaster bust of Thatcher, "No, she's just jealous."
"Yeah, well, I think we both are."
There's also a figurine of Thatcher on the table, this one smaller and painted. A phone in David's trouser pocket buzzes.
"Ooh." David said.
"No, no, David. Come on, you promised." Emma said, sadly.
"Oh, no ..." David said, taking his phone from his pocket.
He looks at his phone. Nearby is another small table on which are several framed photos of their son at various ages.
"Oh, it's a Skype call." David said, his eyes widening.
"Oh, then, that's ... must be Charlie. At least he's phoning, I suppose." Emma said, frowning.
David takes the call and a live image of their son, probably in his early twenties, appears on the screen. There's a snow-covered mountain range behind him.
"Oh, look! Hello!" David said, happily.
"Hey, Dad!" Charlie said, while Emma smiles and waves into the phone's camera. "Happy birthday! Sorry to miss your party but, uh ..." He tilts his head towards the background. "... travel broadens the mind, right?"
Charlie turns the phone a little to give a better view of the mountains, then the image starts to fritz and a spinning 'loading' icon appears as the image freezes.
"No, picture's frozen." David said, shaking the phone.
The image shuts down altogether.
"Yeah, signal's rubbish, but I can still hear you." Charlie said, slightly garbled.
David puts the phone to his ear, "Why-why is it rubbish? Where are you?"
"How is he? Is he eating? Ask him if he's eating." Emma said.
"No, shh."
"David! Emma!" A man said, nearby.
A couple come over to greet them.
"No, no, hang on a sec." David said, talking into the phone. "I'll-I'll find somewhere quieter." He walks away as the couple kiss Emma's cheek. "So, Charlie, where are you? ... Are you there?"
"Sorry, I'm here. I'm just a bit ..." Charlie said, over the phone and trailing off.
"You all right?" David asked.
"It's nothing. Probably just the altitude." Charlie said, over the phone.
"Altitude?"
"I'm in Tibet! Didn't you see the mountains?"
"Look, never mind mountains. Your mother wants to know if you're eating properly." David said, laughing.
"Listen, Dad, could you do me a favour?" Charlie asked, over the phone.
"What?"
"Could you just check something on my car?"
"Your car?!" David exclaimed, walking out of the open front door.
"It's to settle a bet. The guys here don't believe I've got a Power Ranger stuck to the bonnet. Could you take a photo and send it?"
David walks to a nearby car on the drive and takes a photograph of the blue Power Ranger attached to the grille.
"Er, yes, I can do that." David said, straightening up, presses Send on the phone and raises it to his ear again. "All done. You got it? ... Charlie?"
There's no reply. He lowers the phone, sighing.
(Jared's POV)
Baker Street...
Sherlock is still sitting with his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his mouth and I am sitting on the couch.
"A week later ..." Lestrade said.
"Yeah?" John asked, now sitting in his chair.
"What happened next?" I asked, looking at Lestrade.
"... something really weird happens." Lestrade said, while Sherlock smiles. "Drunk driver – he's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him ..." I now see the car speeding along the road with a police car following, its lights flashing and siren wailing. "... and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately ..."
(Open POV)
The drunk driver heads at speed for Charlie's car and smashes straight into the back of it. Charlie's car is pushed a few yards forward until both cars stop. The police car pulls up a little way away. Steam hisses from the engine of the drunk's car, and petrol starts spilling from the rear of Charlie's car. Moments later the front car explodes in a massive fireball.
(Jared's POV)
Baker Street...
Sherlock's eyes are closed as he envisions the scene.
"The drunk guy survived; they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car ..." Lestrade said.
I closed my eyes to imagine a burned skeleton in the driver's seat. It seems to be covered with the remnants of some kind of material.
John leans forward in his chair, "Whose body?"
"Charlie Welsborough, the son." Lestrade said, now sitting on one of the dining room chairs facing the boys' chairs.
"What?" John asked.
"The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead boy's found at the wheel." Lestrade said, as Sherlock chuckles delightedly with his eyes still closed. "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you."
"Have you got a lab report?" John asked.
Greg had already been reaching for his briefcase at his side and now puts it on his lap and takes out some folders.
"Yeah, Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet minister ..." Lestrade said, and John lets out a silent, 'Oh', and nods understandingly. "... so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results."
"That's going to take forever though." I said, letting out a sigh. "Getting those results."
"You're not wrong, Jared." Sherlock said, his eyes snapping open. "Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats."
"The seats?" John asked.
"Yes. The car seats." Sherlock said.
John takes the sheet of paper which Greg is offering him. Sherlock sits up and holds out his hand and Greg gives him a folder. Sherlock opens it and looks at the contents.
"Made of vinyl ... two different types of vinyl present." Sherlock said, looking up thoughtfully. "Was it his own car?"
"Yeah. Not flash – he was a student." Lestrade said.
"Well, that's suggestive." Sherlock said, sitting back again.
"Why is that?" I asked, taking out some chocolate chip cookies from my sling bag to snack on them.
"Vinyl's cheaper than leather."
"Er, yeah, right." Lestrade said, looking confused.
"There's something else." John said.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked.
"According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week." John said, looking at the document Greg gave him.
I closed my eyes to think about the car exploding and the skeleton with the melted material on it.
Sherlock stares at John with a delighted smile forming on his face.
"What?" Sherlock asked, softly.
"The body in the car – dead for a week." John said.
"Oh, this is a good one." Sherlock said, looking at Greg. "You're right, Jared, that I had to wait months for a good case. Is it my birthday? You want help?"
"Yes, please." Lestrade said, drawing in a breath.
"One condition." Sherlock said.
"Okay."
"Take all the credit." Sherlock said, while John raises his head. "It gets boring if I just solve them all with Jared's help."
"It really does." I said, happily. "I give Sherlock hints and Shirley ends up solving them."
"Yeah, the both of you say that, but then John blogs about it and, Sherlock, you get all the credit anyway." Lestrade said.
John laughs, then gives the medical report back to Greg while looking at Sherlock and I, "Yeah, he's got a point."
"Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do." Lestrade said.
"Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock." John said.
Sherlock looks startled, and shakes his head at John and I as if he doesn't understand.
"... like I'm some kind of credit junkie." Lestrade said.
"Definitely a sore spot." John said.
"So you and Jared take all the glory, thanks ..." Lestrade said, waving towards Sherlock.
"Okay." Sherlock said, still looking bewildered.
"... thanks all the same."
"It's no wonder I will become President of the World." I said, laughing a lot.
"Mycroft wanted you in that position next to Kate Stewart." Lestrade said, looking frustrated. "Look, Sherlock, just solve the bloody thing with Jared's help, will you? It's driving me nuts."
"Anything you say, Giles." Sherlock said.
John, Greg, and I give Sherlock a look. He smiles at Greg.
"Just kidding." Sherlock said.
As Greg starts packing away his paperwork, Sherlock turns and mouths to John and I.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, silently.
"His name is Greg." I said, emphasizing Lestrade's first name.
"What?" Sherlock asked, silently.
"Greg." John said, saying the word more pointedly with as little sound as he can manage.
"Oh." Sherlock said, silently.
Greg looks up from his briefcase as Sherlock lowers his head a little, looking towards the floor. Greg looks suspiciously across to John.
"It's obvious, though, isn't it, what happened?" John asked.
"It really is." I said, laughing a lot. "This case is pretty straightforward."
"John, Jared, you both amaze me. You know what happened?" Sherlock asked, looking between John and I.
"Not a clue. It's just you normally say that at this point." John said, sadly.
"Mm. Well, then ..." Sherlock said, smiling, standing up and heads for the door, taking off his dressing gown as he goes. The buttons on his white shirt scream in anguish as the shirt stretches across his chest. "... let's help you solve your little problem, Greg."
John, Greg, and I have also stood up and Greg now looks in startled surprise at John and I.
"You hear that?" Lestrade asked.
"I know!" John yelled.
"It only took five years!" I said, excitedly smiling with Greg and John.
Greg grins towards Sherlock's back as he disappears onto the landing.
"So how's it going then, fatherhood?" Lestrade asked, leading John out of the living room.
"Oh, good, great! Yeah, amazing." John said, smiling.
"Getting any sleep?"
"Christ, no." John said, as Sherlock is on the landing putting on his jacket.
"He isn't getting any sleep. So I do it in shifts with him and Mary. I look after Rosie while her parents are asleep." I said, placing the chocolate chip cookies into my sling bag.
"Fair point. You are Rosie's babysitter, Jared."
Greg stops at the top of the stairs and turns back.
"You're at the beck and call of screaming, demanding babies, woken up at all hours to obey their every whim." Lestrade said, looking at Sherlock and I. "Must feel very different."
John lowers his head to try and hide his smile and follows Greg and I down the stairs.
"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock asked, following John, Greg, and I.
"Yes, well, you know how it is. All you and Jared do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head." John said.
"Are you three having a little joke?" Sherlock asked.
"Never a word of thanks. Can't even tell people's faces apart."
"This is a joke, isn't it?"
"Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever? You're so, so clever!'" Lestrade said, happily.
Sherlock stops on the bottom step while John and I follow Greg to the front door and we take our jackets from the coat hooks.
"Is it about me?" Sherlock asked.
"I think he needs winding." Lestrade said, as an aside to John and I.
"He really does." I said, smirking.
"You know, I think that really might be it." John said, letting out a sigh.
"No, don't get it." Sherlock said.
WELSBOROUGH HOUSE...
Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and I are walking along the drive towards the house.
"Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it, as you'd expect, so go easy on them, yeah?" Lestrade asked.
"You know me." Sherlock said, smirking.
"Basically, you're going to be a smartass again." I said, happily.
John's phone has started ringing notice of a Skype call and he answers it.
"Hey, hello!" Mary said, over the phone.
"Yeah." Lestrade said, unhappily, in response to Sherlock's last comment.
"Got 'em, don't worry. Pampers; the cream you can't get from Boots." John said, talking into the phone.
WELSBOROUGH HOUSE / WATSON'S HOME....
"Yeah, never mind about that. Where are you now? At the dead boy's house?" Mary asked, holding Rosie.
"Yeah." John said.
"And what does he think? Any theories?"
"Uh, well, I texted you the details."
Mary's phone is propped against a mug on the table so that she can look into the camera.
"Yeah, two different types of vinyl." Mary said.
Sherlock looks round and snatches John's phone from him.
"Hey!" John said, angrily.
"How do you know about that?" Sherlock asked, looking into the camera of the phone.
"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up. It's as good as a journalist." Mary said, leaning closer to the phone and whispering loudly and dramatically. "They know everything!"
"Solved it, then?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm working on it." Mary said, smiling.
"I know you are, Mary." I said, happily. "Are you playing the Teen Titans to Rosie?"
"No. I'm making her watch my Little Pony."
"Smart. Rosie is too young for the Teen Titans." I said, walking behind Sherlock.
"Oh, Mary, motherhood's slowing you down." Sherlock said.
"Pig!" Mary yelled.
"Keep trying." Sherlock said, handing the phone back to John as we approach the front door.
"So, what about it, then?" Mary asked, while Sherlock glances upwards as they step into the porch. "What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you gonna call this one?"
"Ooh, the ... uh, 'The Ghost Driver'." John said, sadly.
"I was thinking 'Kamen Rider'." I said, frowning.
"We are not titling it after an anime."
"Don't give it a title." Sherlock said, stopping in the hall.
"People like the titles." I said, clutching the strap of my sling bag.
"I hate the titles."
"Give the people what they want." John said.
"No, never do that. People are stupid."
"Uh, some people." Mary said.
Sherlock leans over to look into the camera.
"All people are stupid. ... Most people." Sherlock said, straightens up again.
WELSBOROUGH HOUSE...
As Greg speaks, John smiles and then winks into the camera and then shuts the phone off.
"Bizarre enough, though, isn't it, to be him?" Lestrade asked, looking at Sherlock. "I mean, it's right up your strasse."
Sherlock throws him a look and then heads towards a nearby closed door. A man opens it and leads Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and I into the same room which the Welsboroughs were in when they took Charlie's phone call. Charlie's parents are sitting on a sofa and they stand as Sherlock walks towards them.
"Mr and Mrs Welsborough." Sherlock said, taking Emma's hand to shake it. "I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter."
"Son." I said, instantly. "They don't have a daughter."
"Son." Sherlock said, instantly.
"Mr and Mrs Welsborough, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade said.
"Thank you very much for coming. We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you." David said.
"Well, I believe that I ..." Sherlock said, glancing to his right and trails off when something catches his attention, before speaking slowly. "... can."
David is talking but his voice almost fades out while Sherlock concentrates on what he has spotted across the room.
"But Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes. I ..." David said, and his voice disappears entirely.
Sherlock is now totally focussed on a small round table in front of the window. The window is shuttered and the light in the room is blue and wavy, as if deep water is rippling all around. At the back of the table is a framed large white card on a stand; the card is an invitation to David to attend a reception at 10 Downing Street, sent by Margaret Thatcher when she was Prime Minister. In front of it to the left is a framed official photograph of Thatcher and to the right is a framed photo of her and David. In front of the solo Thatcher photo is a small commemorative plate with a painting of her, and in front of the other picture is the small painted figurine that we saw earlier. Sherlock focuses in on the space between the plate and the figurine and sees that the leather cover of the table is scuffed. He homes in briefly on the official photo and then on the plate, then the perspective changes and it's as if he is alone in the sitting room but now the shutters on the windows are open – as they were when he entered the room – and daylight is streaming in.
Standing beside Sherlock, John speaks distantly.
"Sherlock?" John asked.
The Welsboroughs look towards the window, then turn back to Sherlock.
"Mr Holmes?" David asked.
Sherlock gasps in a small breath and turns to them, "Sorry. You were saying?"
"Well, Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes. I ... I don't think we'll ever get over this." David said.
Nodding, Sherlock turns his head toward the table again.
"No, shouldn't think so." Sherlock said.
The Welsboroughs look at Sherlock, startled at his indifferent tone. He continues to stare at the table, frowning, then pulls in another breath and looks at the couple.
"So sorry. Will you excuse me a moment? I just ..." Sherlock said, turning and walks closer to the table.
David looks at John, Greg, and I.
"I'll just, um ..." John said, clearing his throat, the army doctor and I follow Sherlock, who stops in front of the table and looks down at it.
The Welsboroughs sit down and John and I walk to Sherlock's side.
"Now what's wrong?" John asked.
"Not sure. I just ... 'By the pricking of my thumbs.'" Sherlock said.
"Agatha Christie or Macbeth?" I asked, looking at Sherlock.
"Macbeth."
"Seriously? You?!" John exclaimed, scoffing sarcastically.
"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John, Jared. They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend." Sherlock said, turning to the Welsboroughs while pointing to the table. "What is this?"
"Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really." David said, standing up and walks over to Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and I. "Bit of a fan of Mrs T. Big hero of mine when I was getting started."
"Right, yes." Sherlock said, smiling politely at David while he takes his magnifier from his pocket and clicks it open before bending down to look more closely at the table, then frowns and straightens up again. "Who?"
"What?" David asked.
"Who-who is this?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to the table.
"Are you serious?"
"Sherlock." John said, sternly.
"It's ... it's Margaret Thatcher, the first female prime minister of this country." David said.
"Right." Sherlock said, bending down to look at the table again but now straightens up. "Prime minister?"
"Mm. Leader of the government." David said, starting to sound a little tetchy.
"Right." Sherlock said, squatting down again, then lifts his head, looking hopeful. "Female?"
"For God's sake. You know perfectly well who she is." John said, while David walks away and the army doctor steps closer with me. "Why are you playing for time?"
"It's the gap." Sherlock said, focusing on the space between the items on the table. "Look at the gap. It's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed ..." David sits down next to Emma and looks across to Greg, who shrugs. "This whole thing's verging on OCD." He turns to look at the Welsboroughs, pointing back to the table. "My respects. This figurine is routinely repositioned after the cleaner's been in." Sherlock points to the official picture. "This picture's straightened every day, yet this ugly gap remains." He points to the vacant spot in the middle of the table. "Something's missing from here, but only recently."
"What is?" I asked, as Sherlock squats down again to focus on the scratched leather. "What's missing?"
"Yes, a ..." David said, sadly.
"... plaster bust." Sherlock said.
"... plaster bust." David said, a split second afterwards.
"Oh, for God's sake. It got broken. What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?" Emma asked, exasperated.
"Rug!" Sherlock said, straightening up and speaking loudly as he clicks his magnifier closed.
"What?"
"Well, how could it get broken? The only place for it to fall is the floor, and there is a big thick rug."
"Does it matter?"
"Mrs Welsborough, I'm sorry. It's best if you let Sherlock do this." I said, sadly.
"Is your friend quite mad?" Emma asked, looking at me.
"Nope. He's an asshole. But it's easy to forget he's a world famous detective."
"Look, no, we had a break-in. Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch." David said.
"The porch where we came in?" Sherlock asked.
"How anybody could hate her so much, they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness ..."
"I'm no expert but, er, possibly her face?" Sherlock asked, and John and I closed our eyes briefly. "Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity, and look at that one." He points to the official photo. "She's smiling in that one."
"Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time. I mean, if there's nothing more ..." Emma said.
"I know what happened to your son."
The parents stare at Sherlock hopefully.
"You do?" Emma asked.
"It's quite simple. Superficial, to be blunt. But first, tell me: the night of the break-in. This room was in darkness?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, yes." David said.
"And the porch where it was smashed: I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit."
I closed my eyes to imagine Sherlock looking upwards as he, John, Lestrade, and I approached the front door, and seeing the cracked motion sensor and the porch light on in broad daylight.
"How'd you notice that?" Lestrade asked.
"I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I'm not the police." Sherlock said.
"So you're saying he smashed it where he could see it." John said.
"Exactly."
"Why would he do that?" I asked, clutching the strap of my sling bag.
"Dunno. Wouldn't be fun if I knew." Sherlock said, happily.
"Mr Holmes, please." Emma said, tearfully.
Sherlock straightens up and turns towards them. He takes a breath.
"It was your fiftieth birthday, Mr Welsborough; of course you were disappointed that your son hadn't made it back from his gap year. After all, he was in Tibet." Sherlock said, in a quickfire rate.
"Yes." David said.
"No."
"No?"
I thought about the car parked outside the house. People can be heard singing 'Happy Birthday To You' inside the house.
"The first part of your conversation was, in fact, pre-recorded video. Easily arranged." Sherlock said.
I closed my eyes to think about Charlie sitting in the driving seat of the car holding his phone. As the 'buffering' circle spins, he lifts the phone to his ear. Inside the house, David looks at his ringing phone.
"It's a Skype call." David said, in the flashback.
"The trick was meant to be a surprise." Sherlock said.
"Trick?" David asked.
"Obviously."
I then thought about Charlie speaking into his phone.
"Could you take a photo and send it?" Charlie asked, grinning.
"There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car: one the actual passenger seat; the other a good copy. Well, good enough." Sherlock said.
I thought about Charlie taking a loose seat cover from the passenger seat and putting it over his face and body. David walks towards the car, getting the camera ready to take the photo. In the near darkness, Charlie can see what's happening through dark gauzy material inserted into the face area of the cover.
"Effectively a costume." Sherlock said.
Having got the cover in place, Charlie tucks his hands inside and is now obscured from view from the outside.
In the present, David and Emma stare in disbelief.
"You're joking." David said.
"No, I'm not. What he wanted was for you to get close enough to the car so he could spring the surprise." Sherlock said.
I then thought about David taking the photo of the Power Ranger attached to the car's grille. As he lifts his phone to his ear, Charlie rips off the seat cover, grinning at him. David stares at him in delight.
"Oh my God!" David said, excitedly.
"Surprise!" Charlie yelled.
"That's when it happened." Sherlock said, as I thought about Charlie hidden inside the seat cover and frowning as if in pain. "I can't be certain, of course, but I think Charlie must have suffered some sort of a seizure. You said he'd felt unwell?"
I then thought about David speaking into his phone.
"You all right?" David asked.
"It's nothing. Probably just the altitude." Charlie said, over the phone.
Inside the seat cover, Charlie's eyes go blank.
"He died there and then. No-one had any cause to go near his car, so there he remained in the driver's seat hidden until ..." Sherlock said, and I thought about the drunk driver's car smashing into Charlie's car, which then explodes. "When the two cars were examined, the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie, who'd been sitting there quite dead for a week."
Emma breaks down in tears, "Oh, God!"
Staring at Sherlock in shock, David reaches across to comfort her.
"Poor kid." Lestrade said, sadly.
"He never got to do the surprise." I said, frowning.
"Really, I'm so sorry. Mr Welsborough, Mrs Welsborough." Sherlock said, walking rapidly out of the room and is soon examining the concrete on the porch with his magnifier. "This is where it was smashed."
John, Greg, and I are just joining Sherlock.
"That was amazing." Lestrade said.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"The car, the kid."
"Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?"
"What's so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?" John asked.
"Can't stand it. Never can. There's a loose thread in the world." Sherlock said, straightening up.
"Yeah, doesn't mean you have to pull on it."
"What kind of a life would that be? Besides, I have the strangest feeling."
Sherlock and I had a brief flash of James Moriarty looking into the camera over our respective right shoulders.
"Miss me?" Jim asked.
"No, I don't." I said, while Sherlock shakes the thought away and stands up, pointing to the black cab parked nearby as he walks towards it with me.
"That's mine. John, Greg, you two take a ... bus." Sherlock said, grabbing my hand.
"Why?" John asked, laughing in disbelief.
"I need to concentrate, and I don't want to hit you. Let's go, Jared, we need to see my brother." Sherlock said, getting in the cab with me and telling the cabbie his destination. "The Mall, please."